Two Children, Lost
by HoVis
Summary: A young girl wanders somewhere she has no business being, and is found, and rescued, by a most unlikely phantom... Updated!
1. Chapter One: Of Ballet and Music

A/N: This is my first Phantom story and is set several years before the 'incident' with Christine Daaé and the Phantom of the Opera (Erik). The story is based around the relationship that builds up between the unfortunate Opera Ghost and a little girl who manages to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I am a thirteen-year-old girl with an eager interest of the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera. This story is largely book-based (the Leroux original) but accessible to those who've never read it as well, hopefully. Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing at all. Apart from Ellisa, the plot, and various other characters I have created for this story.

**Prologue**

Deep in the bowels of the Paris Opera House, the _Opera Populaire_, there existed a shade, a ghost, a phantom that those among the cast of the opera spoke of, in hushed whispers and broken sentences. The girls in the ballet giggled as they heard of his absurd feats of magic – how he managed to be everywhere, and nowhere, _all at the same time_. The adults, meanwhile, were torn between concern for either their own wellbeing or that of their children's, or open scepticism.

And yet, despite these rumours, and despite the solid belief that it was little more than fairytale created my minds too inebriated by liqueur to either see or think straight, this phantom _did_ exist, yet he was neither ghost nor shade, but a man, flesh and blood like the best or worst of us. And he was a human being with passions, emotions, tears to cry and smiles to smile like all of us, yet no one saw his cry, or smile, heard him sing, or watched him coax gently from the ivory keys of a piano the true beauty of music. He was a man, condemned not for any choice or action he had ever made, but for the cruelties of Fate, a thing far beyond even _his_ control.

And so he basked in the shadows, flitted through darkness and glorified himself in the only way he knew how – by immersing himself in music, beautiful and glorious. And as he sang, and played, the tears ran, trailing a face hidden from the world and the darkness by a mask, a vanity surely unneeded in such a dark, dismal place as his terrible playground was.

But then, something happened which brought, for a time, light into his dark world. Light, in the form of a child's innocence…

**Chapter One**

_Paris Opera House, 1873_

The little girl – little older than five years – danced and sang as though concentrating just as hard as any of the girls in the ballet class, yet, in truth, she was not. Her eyes were fixed upon the piano, played by old Mme Enies, the ballet teacher. The girl was fascinated by the way the piano, old and tarnished though it was, managed to sing so beautifully, and be manipulated so expertly by the woman's wizened fingers.

The girl's name was Ellisa, and she had been sent to live – and perform – in the Paris Opera House by her parents who were too poor to care for her yet too proud to send her to a workhouse for food and money. And so, these contradictory pair, these respectable paupers, sent her into the care of their old friend, the prim but kindly conductor at the _Opera Populaire_. He, in his turn, handed young Ellisa into Mme Enies' expert tutelage and care, though he still kept a weather eye out for the child, who, even at five years old, was proving to be somewhat precocious.

Ellisa was small for her age, though still tubby with the puppy fat that makes so many babes so adorable. She had bright blue eyes that sparkled with childlike curiosity and delight, and with a mop of dark, almost red, curls atop he merry little face.

She was, she knew in that simple, honest way that children have, not made to be a dancer. She studied diligently, and probably worked harder than most of the girls in the dormitories. It was because of this hard work, and her sweet nature, that she had been noticed by the dear old Comte de Gricia, who was now working towards becoming her sponsor. The little girl knew she should be grateful – overjoyed, even, for few girls were noticed by so respectable a gentleman, so early on – but all she could feel was sadness. Sadness, because she knew, deep in her heart, the longer she remained a ballerina, the harder it would be for her to follow her true – and only – love.

Music. Well, you might say, she was surrounded by music every moment of her waking day, but what she wanted – _truly_ wanted – was to _play_ music, to learn how to coax from an instrument - sublime and temperamental - the sweet singing of angels. She knew it was possible, for she had heard if with her own ears. She had watched, unbeknownst to him, her friend the conductor as he whiled away his spare time with his violin or his piano. She had also heard the way the flautist's note flew high above the rest when playing in harmony with other instruments, and how the oboe played so pure a note that the whole orchestra tuned itself against it.

And so, while the little girl danced the day away, she dreamed of the evening, when she crept quietly down into the orchestra pit, and would look up at the conductor and place a finger to her lips. He would smile and nod indulgently, before motioning secretively, playfully, to the stool before the grand piano. Ellise's face would then light up, and she would climb up so that she was sitting on the stool, her chubby little legs swinging with delight. It was simply in fun, the conductor thought. Harmless, really…

And yet he would watch her, wondering, listening as she banged away in ecstasy on the keys, knowing that, one day, her dreams would be crushed. For the orchestra was no place for a girl – especially not one like her. Young women, the conductor thought, in his old-fashioned, elderly way, belonged in ballet – _not_ in music school.

But little did he realise that, soon, the girl would have more than one incentive for following music… little realising that her curious nature would put her in more danger, and show her more delights, than anyone could ever have dreamt.

Later that night, after her daily 'lesson' with the conductor, Ellisa was wandering, as she was wont to do, among the towering sets and backdrops stored in the cellars of the Opera. To an adult, these scene-pieces were huge, but to a child, little more than a toddler, they were towering, dark, exciting things that fascinated her almost as much as the creation music did.

One thing that little Ellisa loved to do, as she pranced about in her pink ballerina's clothing, was to explore every rivet, every block of the place. She had determined, in her childish scrawl in her diary, a gift from the Comte de Gricia, that by the time she had turned seven, she would 'no al abowt the opra' she could discover – and alone, she could do it – nay, she _would_ do it.

And so, that night, it was hardly a surprise for her to come across, at last, something of interest. She had been leaning against the wall – built with big stones almost the size of her – when suddenly one of the stones disappeared from behind her. Letting out a brief, high-pitched shout of alarm, she fell back, hitting her head hard as she did so. When she had finished sobbing and drying away her tears of pain and annoyance, she found that she was in a huge, dark room, and the only light was coming from the hole she had managed to make in the wall.

The stone that had fallen out behind her was nowhere in sight, and then, just as she was about to clamber back out of the hole, as far away from that cold darkness as possible, the hole began, mysteriously and impossibly, to seal itself… and then, with a resounding _clank_, the chamber she had found herself in was thrown into darkness, pure and terrifying.

Slowly, the little girl began to cry.

A/N: Please review - tell me what you think. Erik will appear – quite literally – in the next chapter. I was at first apprehensive about writing this story, for I believe that the Phantom did exist, but anyway, tell me whether you liked it or not!


	2. Chapter Two: Of Vanity and Names

A/N: First of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed – I'm glad you all like it! Here are a few replies to your reviews;

LoneGunGirl188: Thanks! And here you are – chapter two!

SugarySweets: blushes You are too kind!

SilverWolf47: Thanks… hopefully he _will_ bond with hr, rather than leaving her alone in the dark… but that's for _you_ to find out…

Kaya DC Pandora: Yes, it _is_ a make of bread, but I got the nickname from an old teacher (apparently it's what my surname looks like when I sign it). And well, to see if it all goes okay… you'll have to read on, won't you? evil grin

Tailfeather: Thanks… I was worried people would call her a Mary Sue… but then again, kids that age can be so cute, can't they?

Erik's Angel: Thanks!

Lauren: Thanks – and the film is great, isn't it? I don't see why people are complaining so much about how yummy Gerard Butler is – it's his voice that matters, not his looks, really, and he _has_ got a fantastic voice. And whether or not the phantom lives… that's nothing to do with me, as this is set several decades before the book/musical/film… but maybe I'll see what I can do!

Now, this chapter has got a lot more of Erik in it, as well as my take on how he got his name (I know, it is completely non-canon and VERY soppy, but bear with me, okay?). If he seems out of character, I apologise… but I do not think even _he_ would mistreat a child, or be able to resist feeling _some_ pity for her. So… on with the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Erik, or his underground home. But I own Ellisa and all the other characters in this curious 'masquerade'.

**Chapter Two**

It was to be some time before the young girl's disappearance was noted by anybody – anybody _above_ ground, that was. There had been one, however, who knew of her curious misadventure, for it had been into his dark lair she had stumbled. This man, ghost, shade, whatever one wished to call him, watched her as she fell through the trick stone – which was, in truth, little more than a painted hollow box and a clever switch mechanism – listened as she had cried, in desperation, in the darkness. And then he had left her, despite the curious feeling in his chest which he could not quite decipher. It could not be pity, he thought with repulsion, for it had been a very long time indeed since he had felt anything akin to compassion towards any fellow human being. And so, after a long moment of silent watchfulness, the shade turned his back on the pitiful sight, and disappeared into the shadows. But he left behind one comfort – a single, long-stemmed, red rose.

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After a time, the little girl's tears ran dry, and she, for the first time, inspected her surroundings. The way back out was blocked, that was clear enough, even to her, but she saw now that there was what appeared to be a corridor leading away from the seemingly-huge chamber, and at the end of that gloomy tunnel, a flicker of light reached her, and warmed her freezing heart. The girl stood up, hesitantly, her heart thumping furiously, her face white and terrified. But she knew that, whatever fear she felt, she would follow that light, for if there is any _overwhelming_ fear shared by every child who lives, has lived, and _will_ live, it is that of darkness and of loneliness.

And so little Ellisa began to make her way on trembling legs towards that light. As she walked, she examined with wide eyes the tunnel. It was covered in moss and stank of damp, as though, at some time in the past, it had been flooded. There were also strange, desperate engravings on the walls, which were really initials, but Ellisa, at five years old, had yet to learn to read. And yet even she could not fail to notice the very air of fear and desperation that permeated every stone of that tunnel, of that single corridor in the great labyrinth of a rabbit's warren.

Finally, she reached the end of the corridor, only to find herself in a yet larger chamber. The light she had spied from the earlier chamber was nowhere to be seen, and yet this large chamber was eerily illuminated, almost as a winter night by moonlight reflecting off the frost.

And in the centre of the chamber there was a lake, and on the other side of the lake, a house. This sight, which would have befuddled any self-respecting adult's imagination beyond sanity itself, was processed and accepted quite coolly by the young girl's mind.

And on the lake, there was a boat. The girl immediately stepped onto the boat, for it was dry, and she knew, in her childish logic, that it was the only way to get to the house standing, peaceful and welcoming, on the other side of the lake, short of traversing her way around it, and this, with her short, chubby little legs, would be all but impossible.

And also, there was a strange, beautiful music starting up… and it seemed to be coming from the lake itself, which was, as any adult would splutter, a plain impossibility. But little Ellisa was but a child, and her mind was open to any number of wonders – including that of a singing lake.

But then, the music began to get quieter, and the girl gave out a short cry of disappointment, and leaned over the boat's side to get closer to the source of the music, to make it stay but a little longer. Suddenly, a pair of arms broke the water's glassy surface from below, and grabbed Ellisa, pulling her over the boat's side, pulling her down, deeper, deeper…

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The man sat, and watched, a strange expression of self-disgust upon his distorted face, as the girl slept at his feet.

Why? Why had he, when he had been on the brink of killing her, saved her life and brought her here, to the one place he felt safe from the cruelties of humanity?

The 'music' the little girl had heard coming from the lake had been little more than his singing, heard from his hiding place beneath the water through the aid of a child's trick – a small, hollow reed, which allowed him both to breath and to lure any misbegotten wanderers towards him. This done, he would usually dispatch of them quickly and silently, before leaving the body where others would find it, as a warning to all those who dared breach the walls of the ghost's palace.

Usually. But, in this case, something had stopped him, and he could not, even now, say what it was, for he knew no words with which to describe the strange feeling of compassion and kinship he had felt for that girl, as she had struggled and kicked against death and it's vice-like grip.

Shaking his head and sighing, the man leant towards the girl's shivering body and tenderly stroked her cheek, brushing away a single stray lock of auburn hair. She was, he mused silently, an extremely pretty child – a thought which brought only bitterness to his heart, for _pretty_ was one thing which he had never been. And then, thinking upon such lines, the man quickly stood up, and reached for something high up on a shelf. As he took the thing in his hand, he felt for a moment a great, immeasurable sadness. The _thing_ was a mask, white, simple, which, when placed upon his face, would cover much of the right side of it.

The hands which held the mask were cold, and trembling desperately. The fingers, long and slim, were the perfect pianist's, and upon his back he wore a tattered dress-coat. A fine dark-brown wig covered his hair, or lack of thereof.

It was, he often mused, fearful vanity for he, with not a mirror or fellow man in sight, to hide behind such pretences as masks or clothing, but vanity is a thing ingrained in all of us, and not even _he_, who thought himself above such a foolish thing as humanity, could be free from that. And in this case, it would not do for the child to see his face, to have to endure such a horror as _that_, he thought bitterly, as he slipped the mask over his features.

The little girl stirred, jerking him sharply from his own thoughts. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and looked around the room blearily. Then, her eyes rested upon the figure, cloaked in shadow and darkness, sitting silently in the chair opposite her.

"Papa?" The girl asked. She had not seen her Papa for a long time, and thought for a moment that this man – this _masked_ man, she noticed – might be her Papa, for she had often dreamed that he would one day come and look after her as a real Papa was meant to. Ellisa had no idea that all her father had ever done was try to help her, and she never imagined what pain it had caused him to part with his precious only child.

But the man shook his head.

"No." He said quietly, his voice totally lacking in any emotion. The girl looked slightly upset by this, and this worried the man. He had not meant to affect her so. And so, somewhat uncomfortable, he stood up and approached her, curled up in another armchair. He squatted, somewhat painfully, by the chair, so that his eyes were on the same level as hers. He took a breath and started again.

"Who… who are you?" He asked levelly, and the little girl rewarded him with a flash of a smile.

"Ellisa Monlagan." She replied, her voice more than a little proud. The man smiled gently at this. The girl cocked her head delightfully to one side before asking, "What's _your_ name?"

The man hesitated, before saying, hesitantly,

"Well, truth be told, I… I haven't actually got a name." The girl frowned at this.

"You have to have a name!" She exclaimed childishly, pouting. Then she spoke up once more; "I know. You can have my Papa's name!"

The man laughed, a sound quite alien to his own ears, and it surprised him at just how good it felt to do so.

"Very well," he replied, "what is your Papa's name?" The girl puffed out her chest as she replied proudly;

"Erik."

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A/N: Please review – all suggestions for where to take this story are welcome!


	3. Chapter Three: Of Darkness and Love

A/N: Firstly, thanks to everyone who reviewed;

Padfootz-luvr: Thanks for the tip, I've changed that now. I can't understand why authors _don't_ include the 'siren' guarding Erik's home… it goes to show just how believable the tale of the Phantom really is, however strange it may seem upon first reading of it.

twinlady: I like your way of thinking! Thanks.

SilverWolf47: Yes, the story _is_ set before Christine (_way_ before), which hopefully explains any differences in character as far as Erik is concerned (that's my excuse, anyway!). Probably about twenty years before Christine, I'm not sure of the exact dates.

galabalesh: You don't _get_ Mary-Sues of five years old! Kids are cute at that age anyway! But I see what you mean. She gets a bit whiny at the end of this chapter, to try and make her a little more realistic. But I think she would be pretty well-behaved anyway, brought up in a poor family and then landing in the world of the opera. But, I do get what your saying, and I'll try to

LoneGunGirl88: Thanks! Here you are!

Okay… the end of this chapter is a little darker than the others, and I'm afraid that poor Ellisa is right in the middle of it – sorry! Here we go;

Disclaimer: Nope. _Nada_. Apart from Ellisa, the ballet-mistress, the conductor, and various other characters. Read and enjoy nonetheless!

**Chapter Three**

Above ground, all hell was breaking loose, for the conductor had at last noticed the absence of his charge. He had at first thought her to be simply ill, or tired, and assumed that she was merely resting in the dormitories reserved for the young ballerinas, but when the ballet teacher, the strict yet kind Mme Enies came to him and asked if _he_ knew where young Ellisa was, he had immediately informed the managers. A little over dramatic, perhaps, considering that Ellisa was nothing more than a five-year-old dancer, but, despite his stern mannerisms, the conductor truly did care for that girl, and the thought that she might somehow be in danger put the fear of God into the man. Added to that, he had sworn to the girl's father, a close friend of his, that he would keep the girl safe and secure for as long as she was to remain under his wing. How could ever break the news to such a doting father that his only child had simply disappeared from under the eyes of both the conductor _and_ the ballet mistress?

No, the conductor had thought, shaking his head. It would simply not do.

And so he had gone to the managers, who had, upon hearing his request – for a search to be sent out to find her, for it was quite feasible that she had wandered off into the catacombs of the Opera and got lost – become quite solemn, and sadly, shook their heads. Then Poligny, the slightly more conscientious of the two, had pulled from his pocket a note, written in a childish red script. It read;

_Dear Managers,_

_Kindly do not fear for the safety of the ballet girl, Ellisa. She is safe and unharmed. Make no attempt to find her, for to do so could have **grave consequences**. Ever your obedient servant,_

_O.G_

_P.S. Kindly do not forget that my salary has yet to be paid. Leave it, as ever, in the care of Mme Denachien, my current box-keeper. And I would very much appreciate it if Box 5 were available for my use tomorrow night for the performance of Romeo and Juliet._

Upon reading this, the conductor had thrown the note down on the desk and looked up at the mangers in disgust.

"You truly believe this… this _ghost_, do you?" he leaned forward, his moustache bristling slightly. "This is a ridiculous superstition!" Debienne, the other joint-manager, squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, before pleading desperately;

"But Monsieur, you have seen what this… this… _phantom_ can do! You know of the… the accidents that have happened. He is dangerous, my dear man, a monster! We have to obey his commands!" The conductor gave him a furious look that would have had even the bravest of men quailing in his boots. And Debienne was hardly the bravest of men!

"Then all the more reason to try and find Ellisa! She _could be in danger!"_ The two managers flinched at the man's anger, and tried to splutter their excuses, but the conductor simply shook his head in disgust.

"I will look for her myself, then!" And with that, the conductor stormed out, leaving the two managers alone to ponder their problems.

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'O.G' had not lied. Ellisa was with him, safe, and unharmed – a fact he himself found a cause for great bemusement. He knew he was taking a great risk in allowing the child to see his underground home, to see _him_, to know him, but the longer she stayed, the more times she flashed that little smile at him, the more he found himself softening towards her. It was, he thought, at least a little comfort to know that he was not quite that debased that he could harm a child.

At that exact moment in time, as the curiously masked man pondered these things, little Ellisa was asleep, and he at his stool by his organ. Before him, there was a manuscript – his precious _Don Juan Triumphante_ – but he found, somehow, that he could not, however hard he tried, let the dark chords roll. He normally had little trouble losing himself in the beautiful, seductive power of music, but this time, all he could think of was the child, asleep in a little room barely twenty feet away.

He was just about to make one last attempt at sinking into the music when he felt a tugging at his coat tails. He looked down, quite unsurprised to see Ellisa grinning up at him. He sighed, and bent down so that his eyes were level with hers.

"Yes, little one? What is it _this_ time?" The girl had awoken from her slumber and interrupted him at least twice with her requests. He pretended to be annoyed, but, somehow, he couldn't quite manage to be sincere about it. Ellisa pointed at the organ, and pouted slightly.

"You don't play!" She exclaimed childishly, but, then again, he had to remind himself, she _was_ a child.

"Very well," he replied coolly, "what would you like me to play?" At this, the girl bit her lip, and shrugged. The man – Erik, as he had already come to think of himself – shrugged as well, though with infinitely more elegance. He then turned back to the organ, and, slowly, began to play – Mendlesson's Wedding March, a bright, rousing theme of a piece of music, a theme he had long since committed to memory, but also long since forgotten, and now he blew, slowly and carefully, the dust from the memories.

And as he played, filling the underground caverns with music, fine and beautiful, an incredible thing happened. His heart, which had for so long been cold and embittered towards all humanity, gently began to warm, to fill with an emotion he had never before known, or if he had, he had long forgotten.

That emotion, or perhaps state of mind, as it could perhaps be called, was happiness, and it was both alien and beautiful to him, overwhelming –

Slowly, he lifted his hands from the keys, and the music drifted away into nothingness. He looked down at Ellisa, smiling, and was both surprised and concerned to see tears streaming down her face.

"Why such tears, little one?" He asked slowly, frowning. Ellisa gulped, biting her lips.

"I want my Papa!" She whined, and the man's frown furrowed deeper into his forehead. The girl had mention her father once before, and he wondered what had become of the man…

"Where is your father, girl?" He still would not call Ellisa by her name, for he feared, as he always did, that she would, soon, push him away. The girl shrugged.

"He left me." She said in a tiny voice, and the sadness with which she spoke stirred anger in the man's heart. He himself had never truly known his parents – his father had left him and his mother soon after his birth, and his own mother, that poor, suffering woman, had found the sight of him too repulsive to even bear. Then, his reverie was broken, by a whine from the girl;

"I want to go back!" These words struck ice in the man's heart. He did not _want_ her to return to the opera, he wanted her to stay, with _him_ – "Take me back!" She stamped her foot, sniffling. The man looked at her with hatred in his eyes –

She fell backwards, the force of his blow causing her to land, painfully, against a heavy wooden cabinet. Her lip trembling, she stood up, silently, her eyes downcast. She looked up once more at the man, but he was staring blankly at the music propped up on the organ. The girl turned, and fled, the tears falling once more.

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A/N: Please review, and tell me what you think!


	4. Chapter Four: The Vale of Tears

A/N: Hello again! Chapter Four coming up… but just a few responses to my reviewers first; -

galebalesh: Thanks!

Softiful: Thanks… I don't write Erik in the way I do with any conscious decision to do it in that way, but the 'book Erik' is an incredibly complex and intriuging character (Leroux's book, that is). I do, however, adore the ALW music… I listen to it all the time whilst writing.

Padfootz-luvr: He does apologise… in his own way, I suppose.

And now… on with the story!

Disclaimer: I think it should be pretty clear by now that I own nothing apart from Ellisa, and the rather dubious 'plot'. It's so dubious even _I_ don't know what it is yet!

**Chapter Four**

The man stayed like that, still as a statue carved from black marble, in front of the keys of the organ. Then, jerkily, as though only just remembering how to move, he lifted his hand up to his mask, and slowly pulled it off. This done, he carefully set the mask down on a tabletop, before wiping from his eyes two lone tears. He thenreplaced the mask, before stiffly standing up. The tears – for once, not of self-pity, but of guilt – began to flow for true. He let out a choking sob, before stumbling over to a corridor leading away from the room of music – agreat cavern of a roomfilled with every conceivable instrument – and entering it.

The corridor led to a single chamber, with not a bed, but a coffin, within it. The walls were covered, not with paint, but with the score from a piece of music. The music was _Dies Irae_, and the coffin was his only resting place – one day to be his for alleternity.

The man grasped in his hands a book of bound manuscript, which he took with him whenever he chose to rest. One day,Fate had long since ordained, he would finish his work – the _Don Juan Triumphante_ – and take it with him to rest eternal.

But until that day came, he would protect the precious music of his life's work with a passion – even with his life.

He could not forgive himself for hitting the child. Closing his eyes, allowing yet another salty tear trickle from his eye, he saw her face, her look of betrayal as she fell back. Reluctantly, sleep took him into her soothing balm, but only for him to be haunted that night – in a cavern where all wasdarkness - by images of Ellisa's pain, as he had pushed her away, as he did all who had ever tried to care for him.

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Back in the room of music, nothing stirred. It was a beautiful room, really – filled with instruments from every corner of the world, a piano, grand and impressive beside the organ keys, the brass of a saxophone shining in the candlelight, it's mother o' pearl keys glistening. Every single instrument in the room – and there were many, woodwind, brass, tuned percussion – was clearly well cared for, and respected with a reverence only one who truly understands music can give.

Slowly, hesitantly, Ellisa tiptoed into the room. Her hair, once neat and shining clean, was dishevelled, hanging down in dirty clumps around her face, and her ballet tutu was dirty and torn. All in all, she made a pathetic sight, and tears of shock and pain still slid down her face.

But, as soon as she caught sight of the piano in the corner, her face lit up, and her tears ran completely dry. With a slight effort, and a self-satisfied smile, she hitched herself up onto the piano stool. Still smiling happily, she started to clump away at the keys.

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The man shot up from his sleep, a disturbance of notes awaking him from his slumber. At first, he was on edge, fearing that both he andhis home had been discovered. But, soon enough, once his conscious mind had taken him over properly, he realised that the only person it could be was the child, Ellisa.

_Ellisa_. Like a dam being burst, the memories of his actions towards the girl came flooding back, and he groaned. He had _hit_ her.

And yet, when the tears _did_, at last, come, they were not for Ellisa, but for himself, selfish tears, as he realised that he had, once again, become close to a person who could not – _would_ not – love him back. It had been the same with his mother, his poor mother, who could not bear the sight of her only son, and with his sisters, who he had adored, but who had only looked upon him with a cruel mixture of disgust and pity.

He was a thoroughly selfish man, indeed, this he knew. But what he _didn't_ realise was that he was still but a child at heart, a child – yearning for guidance and love, two things no-one had ever found themselves able to give him.

Shaking his head from his self-pitying reverie, he stepped elegantly from the coffin which served as his resting place, and silently approached the corridor, all the time listening to the chaotic jangle of notes – one could hardly call it _music_ – bounding through from the chamber beyond.

After listening for a while, his face – what could be seen of it, that is –disorted in surprise. For, below the jangling highs and lows produced by the piano, there was a simple melody, one that only he, a true expert of the craft, could pick out. But it was there nonetheless – an altogether surprising thing for one so young as Ellisa to produce.

Quietly, he began to make his way down the corridor, careful not to make any sudden noises, lest he frighten the girl. He could see her now, sitting at the piano stool, her little legs swinging in delight, and a strange merging of both studied concentration and ecstasy upon her face.

The sight caused him to recall, through a veil of years passed in pain and loneliness, the first time _he_ had alighted upon a chance to turn his hands to the tenderness of musis… his mother's precious piano, the only solid memory she had left of her deceased husband… she had never let the son she despised so much for his ugliness go near it…

But go near it he had, and it had been with a cruel look of horror and amazement upon her face that his mother had run into the room upon hearing the music he charmed from the instrument, so long left to gather dust in the corner of a long-forgotten room.

She had torn his very hands from the keys, but the damage had already been done. He, a boy of barely ten years old but who had already come to realise that his live would be lived alone, had comprehended in that moment of pure ecstasy that he had found one love that would not betray, had found within himself a magic that could not be denied.

That magic was music, and it was in turn both dark, uplifting, mysterious, and revealing – it was a vent for all his darkest fears, a balm to soothe his deepest cuts, a mystery that was to enthrall him all his life, and the mirror by which he judged himself – not the with the vain eyes of humanity, but with the careful judgement of rolling chords.

He thought, in the way of all children who nevergrew up, that he was the only person to truly love and knowmusic – opera was a sham, a mockery of its gentle craft. And yet here was this girl, who had chosen music, not through default, or lack of otheroptions,as he had done, but through her own will… because she _wanted_ it…

Slowly, hesitantly, he made his way towards her, and when he reached the piano, he crouched down so that his masked face was level with her childish one, and took her hands gently in his. She flinched back slightly, but when he made no further moves she relaxed, and gave over the control of her hands to his.

Like a gentle tide over a rocky shore, his hands guided hers towards the caressing hold of music's magic…

...and within an hour, the girl was asleep once again, though this time, she was not alone.

She was sleeping upon the lap of a man who had once spurned all humanity, and yet who now found himself in the position of surrogate father to a girl as abandoned and alone as he had once been.

And yet, curiously, he could live with that.

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A/N: Please review – all suggestions as to how to improve this story are welcome!


	5. Chapter Five: Of Mentor and Pupil

A/N: Ok, I'm afraid this chapter is a bit of a short one, as I've been really busy recently… however, the chapter after this is when things will start to heat up a little! Just a few responses to my reviewers – I love you all!

sparklyscorprion: Thanks! (tries very hard not to look big headed and fails miserably) I am _really_ thirteen, honest! But I've been writing stories since… well, since I learnt to write! Thanks for your comments, they were really useful.

AngelsExist: Thanks!

Hikishianara: Thanks – and here you go! Chapter Five!

Softiful: I made you _cry_? How?! It wasn't even meant to be sad! You're not gonna like chapter six then! Serious angst planned!

AingealFire: Thankyou. bows theatrically

Kaya DC Pandora: Thanks. A bit of a cliffy at the end of this one!

galabalesh: Thanks! Hopefully this chapter lives up to your expectations!

**Chapter Five**

A few days after Erik's roundabout way of asking Ellisa's forgiveness, and, in her childish way, being given it, he decided it was time he took her to see the opera.

She had, of course, seen such performances before, but only from the wings of the stage, and only at certain times. Erik felt it would do her – and her prowess in music – a world of good for her to watch the season's performance of _Romeo and Juliet_ from his prime 'seats' in Box Five.

Of course, he did not actually _enter_ the box – no, that would be far to exposed – and dangerous. Were he in a place where the mangers could find him, they would surely have themselves rid of him by any means necessary, for their friend 'O.G' was by no means a fond one.

No, he had, during his time as architect and engineer for the grand project of building the _Opera Populaire_, added his own… alterations, to the original design.

One of them had been a hollow pillar. It was, in a way, genius in its simplicity, for who would suspect such a thing? The pillar itself was quite large, large enough for at least two people to sit quite comfortably, especially if those two people consisted of one small child and a skeleton of a man.

Which was how, on opening night of _Romeo and Juliet_, the man recently named 'Erik' found himself clambering up the inside of the said pillar, little Ellisa hanging on determinedly to his back like a monkey.

Erik was indeed quite pleased with the young girl's progress over the past few days. It had been a challenge for her, and he understood that – in fact, in a way, he delighted in it. If she had been an instant prodigy (like he had been, he thought, a little smugly), then he would have little to do to help her. Her talent – for it was there, nonetheless – was flawed, but what she lacked in skill she made up for in enthusiasm. She would clump away noisily at the keys for hours, whilst he stood behind her and listened on, allowing her her mistakes, and praising her for her triumphs, small though they may have been.

A tugging at his hair caused him to shake these fond thoughts from his mind, and he turned his neck slightly so that he could see the girl out of the corner of his mind. She was smiling happily, enjoying the idea of watching the opera from a _proper_ seat.

"Yes?" He asked her, his own smile unconsciously mirroring her own. His voice was deep, and of a comforting, gentle timbre. Ellisa loved his voice, for it not only reminded her of her father, a great, warm bear of a man, but also possessed a strange, almost enchanting, quality that she had never heard before, and felt instinctively that she never would again.

"Can you hear it?" Ellisa asked, her head cocked to one side, and the man laughed, surprised at how good it felt to do so.

"Yes," He replied, smiling once more, "I can." He paused slightly, also listening. It was the overture, in which every instrument of the orchestra tuned itself and warmed to the music. Her scowled as he detected a clear discrepancy in what should have been a beautiful blending of instrumental voices. "That third trombone is off-key _again_." He muttered in annoyance, shaking his head in disgust. How could the conductor not notice it? He was, in Erik's opinion, a fine, upstanding musician (certainly better than the _last_ conductor to have graced the Opera scene, Erik had made sure that _he_ had been sent packing quickly) but must have been deaf not to notice the god-awful sound emanating from certain instruments in the brass sect. And no doubt the dancing would be abominable as well!

Erik shook his head. Tonight was not the night for him to be dwelling on such things, for this was the first night he had ever watched the opera _with company_. He intended to enjoy it, to cherish it, so that every memory would be whole and perfect, for him to take out and review fondly in years to come, when he would surely once more be alone.

He had no doubt that she would have to, eventually, leave him alone once again. Darkness was no place for a child of such warmth and innocence – in fact, no place for a child at all, whatever their temperance. And, eventually – his stomach clenched at the thought – the girl's father, the man after who he had been unceremoniously 'named' – would soon want her back.

They were there. There was only one makeshift 'seat' – Erik had never envisaged showing any other person his secret ticket to the opera – but he found that they could both see quite comfortably through the carefully constructed grille he had cut out of the stage-facing side of the pillar if he perched upon the seat set back in the hollow of the pillar and set Ellisa upon his lap.

They were just in time for the end of the Overture, and the opening song. As they watched, little Ellisa was sent into raptures of joy at the sheer visual beauty, whilst Erik slipped back, against all his previous certainties, into his habit of critically reviewing the _vocal_ display. Needless to say he, being the perfectionist that he was, found a great many flaws in the performance. There was only one person he would forgive mistakes in in matters of music, and that was Ellisa. As far as other adults were concerned, he expected them to play and perform to the same standards he would expect of himself, which was, of course, quite unreasonable.

And yet, despite his initial doubts, that night blossomed into a night he would long treasure as the most perfect of his life, for he was not, for once, steeped in darkness, for he was not alone, and he watched the opera, and Ellisa's joy at it, with the wonder of a little child…

Butlittle did he realise that this perfection was soon to be shattered...

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A/N: What do you think? Love it, hate it? Tell me! And prepare for the next chapter… serious cruelty to poor Erik going on, I'm afraid!


	6. Chapter Six: Of Father and Child

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to update! This chapter is, however, a particularly long one; and I'm afraid that poor Erik is about to have his heart broken. Also, I'd just like to emphasise the fact that this is about, hmm, ten years before Christine 'happened' to Erik. The timing will have a great deal of effect in later chapters. But firstly, my responses to my (wonderful) reviewers:

"moi": Well… here you go, then…

Countess Vladislaus Draqu: Thanks!

Countess Alana: I'm afraid I'm not that great at speedy updates, lol!

Softiful: Thankyou kindly! Well, here's the storm!

geckogirl: Thanks!

Well, on with the story…

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom, but I do own Ellisa, her father, and the conductor. Enjoy!

**Chapter Six**

Shortly after the performance of _Romeo and Juliet -_which both Erik and his young protégéé (as he liked to think of her, at least) attended -there was the annual Midsummer's _Bal Masque_ – masked ball. Erik was usually in attendance at these events, for the simple reason that it was the one night of the year when he could appear in public without drawing suspicious looks because of his mask. Also, it was a prime opportunity for him to generally wreak havoc among the patrons of the Opera, a thing he took great delight in doing.

But now he had another reason to attend – he could take Ellisa with him, and appear for once as a normal man, with a child to care for. The idea gave him more than a small amount of pleasure.

And so he planned and dreamed ahead, even going to the extent of venturing out to purchase a dress and mask for Ellisa, showing his childishness in that he never imagined the consequences of his actions. He never thought for a moment that he could possibly be putting his happiness – his happinessrooted inhaving Ellisa with him – at risk by taking her out, in displaying her to those who cared for her the most. He thought, selfishly and childishly, that he was the only person who could ever possibly care, who could ever possibly love this little fragment of humanity, this little child.

He never thought that by taking Ellisa to the masked ball he would be taking the risk of having her torn from him…

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On the morning of the eve of the Bal Masque, the elderly conductor was becoming more than a little anxious, for he, in his optimism (or rather, refusal to think the worst for fear of the truth it might hold), had yet to inform young Ellisa's father of her disappearance… and the wretched, adoring father, thinking all was safe and well with his only child, was planning to come to the Bal Masque to see the girl, to ensure her safety…

And yet the conductor could do nothing except sit, and wait, and worry, and thank whatever strange god presided over life for the fact that the girl's mother would not be attending – she was, Ellisa's father had said in his latest letter, ill – for he did not think he could bear tobreak to herthe news that he had lost the child she had mothered and loved.

_Opera Ghost_. The image of that red scrawl which passed as signature at the bottom of _that_ note came to haunt him in his nightmares, and yet it was also the cause for his greatest hope. Surely this ghost, this mysterious shade, would not send such a letter if Ellisa were not safe?

The conductor shook his head sadly. He was a down-to-earth man, with no time for ghosts, literate or otherwise. He was, in this case, completely out of his depth.

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On the night of the Bal Masque, Ellisa awoke from her afternoon sleep to find Erik standing over her, his eyes distant, and dressed in the fine clothes she ordinarily connected to the genteel of the city. He wore a white silken shirt, a deep red waistcoat embroidered with fine gold thread, a plain yet strangely elegant black dress coat, and a fine cloak, heavy, rich, and embroidered with the most beautiful colours Ellisa had ever seen. His mask was different though… black, instead of white, and shining in its newness.

He was smiling.

"So," he murmured, "were they pleasant dreams?" He always greeted her like this, for he knew that her dreams were pleasant, for at each midday meal (he kept this up for her benefit only; he rarely ate) he would slip into her water a drop of a concoction that encouraged both sleep and stirred the sweeter dreams in the drinkers mind. He did this for several reasons, the prime among them being that, however fond he was of the girl, he still coveted his privacy and time alone. When one has got used to loneliness in life, it can become as familiar and soothing as human company, andcan behard to give up. Also, he felt instinctively that it could not be healthy for such a child to spend all her time in darkness, and so gave her the will to dream so that, for a while, her mind could be filled with the lighter things that children often dream of.

"Yes." She said quietly, her small body stretching like a cat's, before adding, as a childish afterthought, "Thankyou." At this, Erik allowed himself a private smile that did not reach his face, for he was as yet unused to such shows of emotion.

"I brought you this." Erik said simply, holding out the dress he had bought or Ellisa. Her eyes widened in joy and amazement as she took it in her tiny hands. It was, in truth, ridiculously fancy, the sort of dress every little girl dreams of and begs their mother for, but never gets.

It was long, with petticoats that would give at least some illusion of shape to a child's thin body. It was of pastel pink, and had long sleeves which ended with wide cuffs, braided with coloured pearls. The collar, high and, in Ellisa's eyes, most 'grown-up', was braided similarly.

"Oh!" She whispered, her eyes bright, her face uplifted. Erik could not resist a small, self-congratulatory smile. He had chosen the dress himself, with the assistance of a female shop assistant. He had claimed the dress was to be for his 'daughter' and had taken a great deal of pleasure in doing so. The fact that he was, mysteriously, wearing a mask mattered little to the assistant once she had seen the wad of notes sticking up from his breast pocket. He had also been, unknowingly to them,'assisted' in his choice by the reactions of other children walking past the shop window.

"Do you… like it?" He asked hesitantly, despite the fact that the look of joy on her face was answer enough.

She looked up at him, and grinned. He laughed, and turned to the door.

"You had best hurry up and put it on, then!" He said, with an uncharacteristic gaiety, and with that, turned from the room, and left.

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The ballroom was a seething mass of colour and lights. Ellisa hung onto Erik's hand, fearful of becoming enveloped by that mass of bodies, never to be seen again, and Erik too held on, for love of the sensation of being _needed_, of being one person's anchorof comfortamidst the whirling storm of the dance floor.

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Across the floor from them, there stood the conductor, anxious and afeared in the presence of Ellisa's father, whom he had managed to delay in seeing his daughter for a time, but who was quickly becoming worried.

"Where _is_ Ellisa?" He asked furiously of the conductor, who bit his lip and turned away from the force of the man's anger… and saw Ellisa. For a moment, he passed it off as the desperate product of his over-wrought mind, but then he looked again. It _was_ her!

"Ellisa!" He called out, and then drew back as he saw the man beside her, and the look upon the half of his face not concealed by a mask… it was a look of pure rage and fear, the sort of fear a caged animal will give you when it knows you are going to take all from it, its freedom, its young.

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The masked man reacted quickly as he heard the conductor, as he knew him to be, calling Ellisa's name, but not quick enough, for as soon Ellisa realised who was calling her, she ripped her hand from his and rushed across the room towards him…

…no, not towards the conductor… to the man beside him. Erik's mind flashed with realisation, and his heart flamed with jealousy. In three quick strides, his cloak billowing behind him, he crossed the dance floor to where Ellisa was now being embraced by her father. Her father who had abandoned her… the man after whom Ellisa had adoringly named him.

"Greetings." He said coldly, inclining his head just enough to show acknowledgement but not respect, his eyes sweeping over the man before him.

But damn him, the man was handsome. Standing at a height equal to his own, the masked man – he could not bear to think of himself as Erik in the presence of the man after whom he had been given that name – felt a surge of jealousy for the other's effortless good looks, and Ellisa's clear adulation of him.

The man's hair was dark, and pulled back into a short, hurried ponytail at the nape of his neck. The mask he wore, the man noticed, was simple and garish; obviously cheaply made, and he felt a slightflame of incredibly childish satisfaction in the fact that his own mask was of the finest satin and gleaming in its newness.

The other man bowed back, uncertain yet still unaware of anything greatly amiss.

"Greetings." He responded, his eyes raking the lean figure of the man in the mask. Though he could not quite place it, Ellisa's father sensed that there was something more to this man than met the eye… he wore his mask with a ease, a comfort that gave one the idea that he had worn it all his life; unlike the others at the Bal Masque, he did not fiddle with his mask, or giggle uncomfortably at the strange sensation of hiding one's face from the world. "And who, sir, might you be?" At this, the man smirked.

"I, good sir," he said, his eyes, his strange, haunting amber eyes gleaming, "am O.G."

At this, the conductor immediately stiffened, and when he spoke it was with the quiet fear of a man facing that which he cannot describe, yet knows to be dangerous.

"O.G… stay away, you devilish magician!" Ellisa's father turned in surprise at his accomplice's sudden outburst, but 'O.G', as he called himself, seemed quite unsuprised; in fact, he almost seemed pleased.

"My dear man!" Ellisa's father exclaimed, laughing uneasily. "What has come over you!" The conductor, however, could not be swayed.

"This man – " he began, fuming like a madman, and pointing accusingly at the mysterious figure before them all, " – took your daughter, Ellisa – kidnapped her, sent letters of the _most_ threatening nature detailing what he would do should we attempt to find her – and then! Then he has the _gall_ to parade before us, here, to attempt to ruin the merriment of this ball! Well, it shall _not_ be tolerated, I say!" He turned, almost foaming at the mouth in his fury, towards the silent crowds who had now gathered around. Ellisa looked on in silent shock and horror, not fully comprehending the situation, yet understanding in her own childish way that it could not turn out well – for any of them.

It took a long moment for the crowds to realise what was happening; but when they did, whispers began to fill the room with their hissing malevolence. Somehow, the word spread between the residents of the Opera that this man in the dark mask was the Phantom; the mysterious figure who had haunted them for too long. And when they realised the implications of what the conductor was saying, they rose in rage, carrying the rest of the crowd – the unknowing bystanders – with them.

The subject of the crowds' fury realised what was happening even before they did, and reacted immediately. First, he looked piercingly into Ellisa's eyes, and said simply, so quietly that he himself was not even sure she heard -perhaps he did not entirelywant her to -

"Never forget." And with that, he whirled to face the advancing mass of masks and cloaks. With a rising sense of – not exactly panic, nor fear – annoyance, he realised that he was surrounded on all sides. He smirked. No matter. The 'Phantom' always had one more trick up his sleeve.

He moved, ever so slightly, to his right, so that he was standing directly over a black square of the chessboard-chequered ballroom floor. Then, with a swish of his cloak, and an unnoticed placing of pressure on the corner of the square, he vanished.

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Breathless, the man – Erik, the Phantom, 'O.G', whatever one wished to label him – continued to run through the labyrinth of his underground home, choking back a sob as he recalled, in horrifying clarity, every detail of that which had just occurred.

Ellisa's face as he had turned from her. The hatred and desire to harm in the eyes of the slowly advancing crowd. The sight of Ellisa, safe and happy in her father's arms –

He stopped, and closed his eyes in pain, not pain of the mortal body, but of the immortal soul. This scar, which marred deeper than the deformities of his flesh, would remain with him, he knew, for all eternity.

And right now he was bleeding from it, and knew that he had to, soon, balm it and bandage it in the only way he knew how; through his music.

Which was how and why, that night,he came to be – tears streaming silently down his face – before the magnificent organ that would never be heard by other human ears, composing feverishly, playing with a darkness which seemed foolishly alien to him. He had, whilst Ellisa had been with him, added lighter, far more delighted shades to his _Don Juan Triumphant_, but now that she was gone, the music, like his life, was darker for the memory of it.

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A/N: Please review, tell me what you think; how would you like this to continue? All suggestions welcome!


	7. Chapter Seven: A Mind, Lost

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Firstly a few responses to my wonderful reviewers!

Ridel: Thanks! I'm trying to stick with the Leroux interpretation of Erik. I like the childish aspect of that particular 'interpretation' of the character.

awoman: Thanks. I'll try and have a look at your works when I get a chance.

Kaya DC Pandora: Ellisa _is_ coming back – but at a later age. Thanks for the advice!

Moi: How is it that all my reviewers can read my mind!

**NB: We are still PRE-Christine (at the moment).**

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Now let's get on with the story!

**Chapter Seven**

It had been seven days – one whole week – since the dramatic appearance – and _dis_appearance of the Phantom at the masked ball. The entire Opera house was ablaze with whispers of it, of rumours that he – the Phantom – was a mysterious child-snatcher, and that all should be on their guard. There were also whispers, these ones quieter and amongst only the darker-minded of the Opera, that Ellisa was in fact _his_ child, and wasthe child of the devil himself.

There were also some, the optimists of the cast, who murmured that perhaps the Phantom was gone, that this final humiliation had sent him to wherever spectres go once they have been chased from haunting a place.

Sadly, this was not to be, for perhaps it would have been better were he dead. This was certainly the mindset of the unfortunate creature as he sat that night, despondent, mask in hands, staring endlessly into space, into memories he knew he could never recover.

And somewhere, far away from Paris, on the other side of France, a little girl sat in her room andgazedinto the pastsimilarly, tears trickling down her face. Somehow, despite all the logic a child might possess – _has_ to possess to make sense of the world around him or her – she knew that somewhere, deep in the darkness, the man in the mask who had showed her such kindness was hurting. Her friend was hurting.

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The next day, the manager's of the Opera, with more than a little trepidation, looked into their box of mail, and were galled to find on top of it a very much expected, and feared, note.

The note was sealed with wax of a curiously deep red, and written in a red, child-like hand. It read thus;

_Dear Managers,_ it began, and both Debienne and Poligny got the sense that they were being, ever so slightly, mocked,

_I am**most** displeasedby the manner in which I was treated when I elected to attend your Bal Masque, along with my daughter, Ellisa. Not only was I grossly mistreated, but she was taken from me by a man who had clearly taken leave of his senses. My wife is beside herself with worry. If you would be so kind as to rectify this immediately;_

_Yours, O.G_

And so it was that the managers of the infamous Opera House were the first to be witness to the slowly crumbling sanity of 'O.G', and his inevitable slide into complete madness.

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Erik had sat down and written the note a few hours after his return to his underground home. His tears had ran dry, until all that was left was numbness. And then, without even thinking of what he was doing, he sat and began to write, haltingly and with great difficulty.

He had fashioned, in his grief-stricken mind, an existence in which he was Ellisa's father, in which he was handsome, in which he doted upon his beloved wife and daughter. He had even gone over the memories of the Bal Masque, had… _adjusted_ them to fit his fantasy. And, without even meaning to, he had allowed this fantasy to seep onto the paper.

Once he had signed the letter off he did not even bother to glance back over it, little realising the insanity the treacherous red ink spoke of.

Then he slipped it, as he always did -through the use of a very small, very secret trapdoor -onto Debienne's desk, where the box containing any urgent mail for the two managers was kept.

Then he slunk back into the darkness, to his home, the one place where he had felt free from the cruelties of mankind… but where he now found himself trapped with his own self-pity, a thing he had long sworn to keep at bay, for fear of what it might do to him. A creature such as he had an awful lot to pity himself for.

He turned to the organ, in hope of finding solace there, but found only more pain, and a lack of ability to create music, to create _anything_ beautiful, which he could not in his memory recall experiencing before. All that came from the organ was a pitiful whine of music torn from the deepest, ugliest reaches of Hell. He turned to sleep, but found that when it did come, it haunted him with the image of Ellisa's face, horror-struck as he turned away from her. And then he turned to drink, yet all it did was drown him in a stupor of misery.

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The years passed, spinning in the never-ending circle of life and death and youth, and Ellisa was soon thirteen years old, her memories of her time beneath the Opera House with 'her Erik' out of sight, out of mind, slowly gathering dust with the rest of heronce-cherished childishmemories. Thus is the way of childhood; a thing that can for one moment be an obsession that seems to be eternal is forgotten the next.

But her parents had not forgotten, and when she received a letter, inviting her to join the _corps de ballet_ at the Paris Opera House once again, her father immediately went white, and tore the letter from her grasp. Unable to discern why her father was acting so strangely, she had turned to her mother, completely bewildered.

"Mother," she had started, frowning and brushing from her eyes a lock of reddish hair. She disliked her hair colour; it was so unlike her mother's lovely golden-blonde, or her father's chocolate brown that she often wondered where she had inherited such a shade. "why can I not go to Paris? It is a chance of a lifetime!"

Poor, childish Ellisa did not remember why she had been taken so suddenly from the Opera House those many years ago, and when she asked she was waved off with an awkward excuse. Her father sighed, looking at her distantlyover a pair of stronge spectacles, for his eyesight was failing prematurely.

"It's hard to explain, Ellisa…" He trailed off, noticing with a slight pang the wobble of his daughter's lower lip. She was a vixen alright, he mused silently, for she knew all too well that he could not resist such a look, that knew she had her father well and truly wrapped round her little finger. He turned away so that she would notsee the pain in his eyes as he spoke again;

"Very well, my child." And though his daughter squealed with happiness and hugged him in her delight, his fears could not be dispelled. Though his daughter could not remember 'O.G' clearly, _he_ could still see, clear as day, the inhuman look of rage and grief in the pitiful man's eyes as the mob turned on him… as Ellisa was taken from him.

Ellisa's father knew what a father's love could cause a man to do, and he feared what Ellisa's silent guardian of so long ago might do to get her back, if she wandered once more into his terrible playground.

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It was three months after her arrival at the Opera House that Erik first realised that the new addition to the _corps de ballet_ was Ellisa, his little Ellisa, and it took a further two for him to draw himself enough from the stupor he had slowly sunk into to even care.

His first feelings upon seeing her were confused, numbed. The only reason he recognised her was because of the way she hung about the orchestra pit, long after the audiences had gone home, reverently stroking the keys of the organ, silently running her fingers up and down the strings of the double bass, fingeringgentle melodiesin her mind.

His second thoughts were of how he might bring her, lure her back into his endless, cavernous kingdom. And though the small part of him that still possessed some semblance of sanity and rationality screamed at him to stop being such a fool, that such a course of action would only lead to tearing apart even further his wounded heart, the rest of him did not listen. It did not want to listen, for he had spent so long alone with his awful pain and memories that he would risk anything to end his terrible solitude.

He would get her back, he would bring her back, he would teach her, once more, to play the piano, perhaps even the organ. He would get her back.

_Whatever_ the price.

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A/N: Review… you know you want to!


	8. Chapter Eight: The Spinning Web

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update! We've just started school again after half term and it has been snowing on and off for the last three days! Anyway, just a few responses to my reviewers;

CoolGirlEmily: Oh, so _that's_ what the Phantom says at the start… bravissimo. I always wondered… Thanks!

Softiful: Yeah… I didn't want to get too distracted at that point of the story… I'm told I'm too 'long-winded' in my writing!

Ridel: Oh, trust me, there's more heartache to come, I'm afraid...

This chapter is where things start to heat up a bit, and Erik really does start to lose his mind even more… I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing, apart from Ellisa and the plot and all the other original characters

**Chapter Eight**

It took several months, but soon enough the cruel whisperings that had been batting between the elder residents of the Opera House reached the ears of young Ellisa.

The whispers spoke of her time spent, as a young child, out of the eyes of all of them – of the time she had spent with the Phantom, known more dearly to her as 'Erik'.

She had thought she had forgotten. She had returned to Erik only in her dreams, not her waking thoughts, but now the cruel mumurings of people she had once thought to be perfect, kind creatures awoke in her the feelingsof that time, with him.

It had been like being overtaken by some strange sort of magic, to spend but a week in the company of that man in the mask. He had been so kind, so gentle with her, as though she had been made of porcelain… no one had ever treated her like that before, not even her father who she knew loved her so much… and he had been so patient a tutor.

Yes, of all the things she remembered of her time with Erik, it was that; his acts of tender patience whilst teaching her to play the piano, that she cherished so.She still played, sometimes, but her father refused to get her a tutor when she had told him the reason for her interest in music was because of the 'man in the mask'.

And, slowly, her hunger for music – and for answers to the questions she had once been too scared to ask – began to overwhelm any fear she had for the darkness, or for theterrible consequences spoken of among the _corps de ballet_ of the 'magical lasso', and the 'Phantom's' skill with it.

She wanted answers…. She wanted to return to her friend. _Whatever_ the consequences.

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And so that was how she came to be, still dressed in her ballet costume, clambering about among the set-pieces – still just as tall and overwhelming to her as they had been eight years ago – carefully testing each and every brick along the wall where she had first fallen into the huge cavern, with the lake, and the boat… and the man.

But, though she tested every brick, every imperfection in the face of the wall, she did not find the entrance into that dark room. It was as though it had simply disappeared… or as though the place had sealed itself against her.

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In truth, that particular entrance into the kingdom below the opera _had_ been sealed up. Erik, not wishing to risk having another child such as Ellisa stumble into his lair, had altered the form of the mechanism in the secret entrance. Whereas before it had simply been a matter of pushing against the stone with a little pressure, it was now a case of pressing the _exact_ spot, with the _exact_ amount of pressure – two secrets thatErik alone coveted. No one would ever come by his home by accident again!

But when he saw Ellisa's tearful face as she went over and over the wall, desperate to find her way in, he realised that he may have made a terrible mistake.

It had never occurred to him that Ellisa would actually _want_ to return to him of her own volition. He had assumed that her father had whispered poison in her ears, had turned her childish heart against him.

But the man had not… and Ellisa wanted to return to him! Erik went back into his apartment that night smiling broadly despite himself, and when he turned to the organ his _Don Juan Triumphant_ score reached new levels of beauty, of awe and joy. The next day, he would begin to lead her back to him… he would have his Ellisa with him once more.

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Ellisa's room was small, but private; as she was, in the eyes of the ballet mistress, 'a young woman', she was accorded the privileges of such a person – and that meant, to her great surprise and pleasure, privacy.

The room was nothing special, a small, somewhat ricketyvanity in one corner, no windows, and no carpet on the oak wood floor. It was simple, primitive – but it was _hers_.

But a day later, something happened that caused her to look upon the room with fear rather than fondness. It had been a day after her fruitless search for the secret entrance to the cellars…

It had been an ordinary enough day, rehearsing with the _corps de ballet_, finding that she was for the most part able to ignore the snide whisperings of the older girls, though they still at times stung.

When she returned to he room that night, however, she found something rather curious onhervanity… a single red rose, with a black satin bow tied around the stem. At first, her heart had skipped a beat, thinking foolishly that perhaps she had a secret admirer, a dashing young man who had watched her dancing and had fallen in love with her…

But then the music had started, and she realised instinctively that it was much, much more than that.

A violin was playing, somewhere beyond the walls of her room… a simple, childish melody… the one she had picked out on the piano all those years ago.

It was _him_. He was here… and gods, she had left him. She realised now that her father had been _right_ to take her away from the Opera… she had heard the stories of the bodies found among the set pieces, strangled and shoeless. Her Erik was a murderer…

_And he was in the room with her._

Not waiting for a moment, she turned from the room, and fled.

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Erik cursed silently as he watched the girl flee from her room. So, perhaps she did not wish to return to him, after all…

Beneath the mask, his lips twisted into an ugly look of fury and determination. Damn her wishes… she _would_ be his once again…

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A/N: So, there you are… things are hotting up from here on in! Please review!


	9. Chapter Nine: A Dark Encore

**A/N:** Hello everyone! (promptly hides as everyone gets rotten cabbages ready to throw) I am so sorry I took so flippin' long to update! I'm sorry! I kind of lost the plot and it took seeing the show in London (AMAZING!) to kick me back into gear. So here is the result! This chapter sort of jumps about a bit: from Ellisa being thirteen to her being sixteen, but I do need to move the story on a bit. Erik loses it about halfway through and does something **very** silly. Well, read on!

**Disclaimer:** Oh, believe me, I wish I did. But I don't. Own anything, that is, leastways not to do with Phantom of the Opera.

**Chapter Nine**

_Paris Opera House, 1881_

At the time of our tale, thirteen years was still, in the eyes of society, extremely young and innocent – especially for a girl. And so Ellisa, at her tender age, knew very little of the world and its prejudices, its cruelties and its dangers.

She knew very little of love. But, curious as it may seem, the same could be said of Erik, her poor, sad Erik. He had never been loved, and he had never dared to allow himself to love – up till now. He knew, deep down, that he had once loved his mother, but that had soon turned to hate, as love so often can.

But love can turn to other things, as well as hate. Love can turn into obsession, and the Phantom had become obsessed with Ellisa, as children so often do. But what he didn't realise was that this was more than just a childish fancy: he needed the light she gave to save him from complete insanity.

But was Ellisa ready to provide that light?

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'O.G's' – he would not be Erik again until _she_ was with him once more – plan was as simple as it was cruel. He knew that Ellisa kept a decanter of water in her dressing room, and it was simple enough to place a sleeping potion – the same he had given her each afternoon those many years ago – in it, and then simply wait for it to take effect. Then he could bind her hands, and carry her down to the cellars. No one would be able to find her, not this time.

The plan took barely ten minutes to play out, and then she was asleep in his armchair once more. It was only at this point, staring down at the red, inflamed skin beneath the rope on her wrists that his conscience decided to prick him.

He sat there for hours, scarcely breathing, as he fought with his guilt. Why had he taken her like that? What in God's name had possessed him? She was but a child…

Then, the _child_ stirred. Erik swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He was not ready, not ready for her to wake up… he was not ready for her look of terrible hurt and hatred as she saw where she was once more...

Her eyelids flickered, and his hands flew up to his mask. It was in place… at least he could spare her that one horror…

Slowly, she opened her eyes, and stretched in that familiar, cat-like way. But then, as her mind processed what her eyes were seeing, she immediately leapt from the chair with the grace instilled in her by her ballet teacher, but almost toppled over with her bound hands. Almost unconsciously, Erik stepped forward and steadied her, but she stepped away, fear in her eyes. Fear… and something else.

"Erik?" Her voice was disbelieving, and trembling. Erik looked away, his guilt overpowering his courage, and did not see the slow, delighted smile that crossed her face, for just a moment. But then she looked down at her hands, and asked shakily;

"Why have you tied me up like this?" Wordlessly, Erik stepped forward, and as gently as he could, untied the rope. He stepped back, still not daring to meet her eyes. What terrible thoughts were filling her mind, what awful thoughts of hatred and fear?

"There." He said, his voice quiet, with none of its ordinary brilliance. Ellisa flinched away at this harsh metallic soundin a manner she had not from his cold touch. They stood in silence for a moment, neither ready to break the silence,awkwardas it was.

Ellisa glanced around the room, so alien yet so familiar, a room she had visited in her dreams every night for years. And there, in the corner of the room, the piano, the object she had always longed to touch in her dream but which always disappeared before she could. The sight of it brought to her mind a strange calm.

"Erik… why?" Erik looked up in astonishment, not because of her question, but because she had taken in her hands one of his and was now gently rubbing it between hers, as though to warm it. He looked reluctantly into her eyes and was shocked to see not hatred in them, but a gentle compassion, and hope.

But the fear was still there nonetheless. But could he blame her? She was just a child, really… so young. Too young to be hidden there, in the dark. He pulled his hand from her grasp and turned away, his fists clenching in confusion and frustration.

"You are free to go. I will keep you no longer." Hemuttered roughly, but Ellisa was not going to back down so easily. She took his hand once more – such impertinence, others had died for far less at his hand! – and pulled him round to face her. Though the fear was still clear in her eyes, her face was set in the harsh lines of childish determination.

"What about my lesson?" She said simply, then fell silent. At first Erik looked at her in bafflement, but then, seeing her eyes wander to the piano in the corner, he smiled, feeling young once more. He led her to the piano stool, and held it out for her just as a gentleman should.

"Thankyou." She said primly, and Erik felt his heart give a curious lurch of emotion that he could not quite place.

She sat down at the stool, and looked up at him expectantly. And it was only as he lent down to guide her fingers over the keys that Erik realised that it was not just _her_ hands that were shaking... his were too.

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So much had changed. Erik cursed himself for ever allowing his irrationality to take control and to persuade him to kidnap Ellisa.

She was young, yet so brave. He had seen it in her eyes, as he'd gently guided her hands over the keys earlier that night, her fear, her compassion. How was it that one little girl had decided to shoulder without complaint the burden of Erik's loneliness when all others had turned away in revulsion? How could such a small person have so much goodness in their soul?

She was sleeping now, sleeping in his armchair, and he was watching her, his chest rising and falling in time with hers. He absorbed every detail of her face, now thin and angular, all traces of puppy fat gone, her hair, a slightly deeper shade of auburn than it had been, and her thin, fragile limbs. She was by no means a great beauty (a thought which gave Erik a perverse sense of relief, much to his consternation), but she had a sweet, innocent smile and eyes that Erik knew would be the block upon which one day many young suitors wouldunthinkinglystumble.

They were the eyes that he had already stumbled at. They were the eyes that had implored him to save the girl's life all those years ago, the eyes that had brought into his dark world a ray of pure bright light.

The eyes that had taught him to love…

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He had sent her away, after two days of music. He had sent her away… on the understanding that she would return, for a further two days, when next she earnt a reprieve from dancing. It was all that kept her going through the long, exhausting nights beneath the eyes of the aristocrats of Parisian society.

Ellisa, lacking any emotional vocabulary save that of a child, could not explain what it was that drew her so to the man in the mask. She did not realise that she recognised his loneliness, empathised with his love of music…

She had forgiven him for kidnapping her, just as she had forgiven him long ago for hitting her. She would go on forgiving, because a very deep, wise part of her knew that whatever pain he had dealt her was but a fraction of that which the world had heaped upon him.

It was only a few more weeks until she would see him again…

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Years passed in such a vein, with Ellisa going down beneath the Opera House whenever she could to lose herself in the music that she and Erik created together. She was a ready and eager pupil, and he a skilled, if somewhat feverish, tutor. Erik did not change: he cared not for the outside world or its influences. But Ellisa was slowly changing into a young woman, and her innocence, which had protected her from seeing all that was foul and degraded in 'her Erik', was slowly fading away. But what would take its place?

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_Paris Opera House, 1884_

Their lesson was over for the day, and as Erik closed the heavy manuscript with a slight smile, Ellisa asked him a question she had been longing, but never quite daring, to ask him for weeks.

"Erik? May I ask you something?" Erik looked down at the girl, frowningslightly beneath his mask. The changes in her over the past few months had been disturbingly sudden... it seemed to him that one moment she had been a plain, solitary little girl and the nexta confident young woman who received flowers every night from doting young menwho hadadored her from afar in the ballet.Yes… he knew all about her suitors. Whatever she lacked in looks she more than made up for with personality.

"It would seem you already have, my dear, but do go on." Erik replied after a short pause, determinedly pushing away his sudden rush of fear. She was going to ask him what lay beneath the mask… she had never asked before, but…

"Will you take me to the masquerade ball?" _Well._ Somehow, he hadn't been expecting that… but somehow, he would have rather she'd asked about the mask. He sighed imperceptibly and turned so that she could only see the masked side of his face, and not his emotions. She continued; "Well, you see I'm sixteen by then, and then it will be permissible for a man to take me out, and I've had one or two invitations already, but I would so love it if _you_ could take me…" and so on.

Erik turned back to the girl, sighing as he saw the look of pleading adoration in her eyes. _If you knew what others do, child, you would not look upon me in such a way…_

What could he do? Already he was weakening to that look… how was he to push away the affection – perhaps even love – of the only person who had ever shown him kindness?

"Very well." He said gruffly, astonished when she leapt from the stool and hugged him tightly. They rarely had any physical contact -for his part, Erik shied from it out of habit, and she out of a deep, long-forgotten fear.

"Thankyou." She whispered, still not pulling away. Erik swallowed nervously, wondering what he was meant to do with his hands. Eventually he decided to pat her head in a paternal manner.

And as he grew accustomed to the feeing of her arms around his body, Erik wondered why she hadmade such a request, and why he had so readily acquiesced to it, despite the risks. He wondered what it was about this girl that made him forget about his mask.

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They were to meet outside the Rue de Commune. Ellisa rubbed her hands – encased in white gloves up to the elbows – together in a mixture of nerves and anticipation. She was wearing a petite powder pink dress she had bought with her savings from the past two months. And as she had stood before the mirror earlier that evening she had decided it had been worth every franc.

The mask she wore was simple, plain, black – covering the left side of her face. The half-mask both unconsciously mirrored and contrasted with Erik's white, right-side mask.

"My child?" Ellisa jumped and whirled around to see Erik standing before her, an odd expression she could not quite decipher upon his face.

The two stood in silence for a moment, each drinking in the appearance of the other. Erik was dressed in his finest dress coat and a long, flowing black cloak lined with red satin. A sword hung from his belt in an ornate scabbard. Upon his face he wore his customary white mask. An air of mystery hung around his very persona. Unfortunately the effect was ruined by the fact that he also wore his battered fedora upon his head, but Ellisa didn't mind. She knew her friends in the _corps de ballet_ would be green with envy at the sight of her being escorted by such a striking figure.

Erik, for his part, could not quite place the feelings that coursed through him at the sight of his young _protégéé_. She looked… charming, he thought. Swallowing his anxiety, and determinedly pushing away the somewhat inappropriate thoughts running through his head to the very deepest depths of his mind, he offered her his arm.

"Shall we?" He asked, suddenly excited as a little child. Ellisa laughed gaily, and took his proffered arm.

"Yes." She said, smiling. She looked up at him, and reached a tentative hand up to stroke the left side of his face – the side not covered by the mask. "Thankyou." She whispered. "For everything."

Erik said nothing, merely looked away awkwardly and tried not to think how much what she was saying sounded like a goodbye.

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**A/N:** Please review! I'm trying to walk the fine line between making Ellisa realistically likeable from Erik's point of view (and let's face it, you'd need the patience of an angel to put up with him!) and letting her become a Mary-Sue, which I know annoys a lot of readers. So I need you to be my watchdogs!


	10. Chapter Ten: One More Night

**A/N:** Hello all! Just before you get the story, I'd just like to say that this has got to be one of my favourite chapter so far... things are taking a slightly different turn now... enjoy!

**Nicole:** Thanks! I'm glad I've managed to impress a new reader! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Chapter Ten**

When they arrived at the ball the dancing had already begun, and couples, young and old, were twirling round the chessboard dance floor. Erik and Ellisa entered at the top of the huge staircase, and were greeted by a steward wearing a plain black mask. He stepped forward, and bowed deeply.

"Welcome, Monsieur, Madame." Ellisa nodded and smiled at the young steward; Erik was too busy trying to quell the growing panic in the pit of his stomach to respond. It was only when they reached the bottom of the staircase that the implications of the steward's words hit him.

"He called you _Madame_, as though we were man and wife." He murmured, frowning down at Ellisa. "Why did you not correct him?" Ellisa looked away, flushing slightly, and Erik shook his head smilingly at the young girl's foolishness, but said nothing. They walked onto the dance floor in companionable silence until Ellisa turned towards him and held out her hands. Erik knew what she wanted – to dance with him - but he was flustered… the truth was, living where he did, he didn't have much opportunity for dancing…

"Ah, perhaps it would be best if we just - " But his words fell on deaf ears, as at that moment Ellisa took his hands in her own. His right hand she placed on her waist (ever the gentleman, he let it stray no lower) and his left hand she clasped in her own. Slowly, in time with the waltzing rhythm of the music drifting across the huge room from the orchestra, shedanced him around the floor. Erik for once was more than happy to let someone else take the lead, and he found himself realising that the warmth of her body against his was not entirely… objectionable…

_No!_ Erik sharply shook himself, earning a confused look from his dance partner. He shouldn't think that way, _mustn't_ think that way… she was only a child…

The beat of the music quickened, and Erik found himself twirled around the dance floor, surrounded by masks, fantastic faces… _people_….

Erik was somewhat amused to note the looks Ellisa was receiving from her fellow ballet girls: they were looks of envy, furious envy… but at what? Was it her dress, or the way she looked? Erik shook his head, silently thinking that women were one mystery he would never understand, little realising that he himself was the object of the girls' envy!

The music ended, and as the orchestra took time for a brief reprieve, so those on the dance floor dispersed towards the drinks tables as well. Erik, with Ellisa's arm comfortably hooked in the crook of his, headed towards the most deserted spot he could find – which was difficult, considering the fact that almost all of Parisian high society had turned out for the popular annual masquerade ball.

"A drink, _m'amselle_?" Erik asked teasingly, handing Ellisa a glass of champagne. He himself selected a malt whisky. He had a feeling he might be needing a little Dutch courage in reserve, just in case. And no sooner had he finished his glass than it was called upon, for a voice called out to Ellisa:

"My girl! Come here!" Ellisa turned, andexclaimed in delight;

"Mother!"

_Oh, dear…_ Erik swallowed, obliged to accompany Ellisa as she ran into the arms of the expectant woman – her mother.

The woman, Erik noted, looked much like her daughter, though the years had not been kind to her. What was it Ellisa had told him? That her parents had been sohard-up they had had to send her to the _corps de ballet _at the age of five or else be made paupers?

"And who," Ellisa's mother asked as she pulled herself from her daughter's embrace, wiping away a tear as she did so, "is this?" She gave her daughter a glowing look. "Yourdashing suitor you spoke of?"

Ellisa giggled and pulled Erik forward.

"Yes. Mother, meet… Erik Valencio. Erik, this is my mother." Erik knew full well that he was not the 'young suitor' the girl's mother spoke of, but decided to entertain her little game nonetheless.

"Madame." He said courteously, bowing and allowing his lips to brush the tips of the woman's fingers. As he did so, he felt a curious thrill rush through him. It was not the woman that caused such feelings, he knew, more the action, so everyday, others took it for granted… but for one night, _he_ too could be a normal man! The thought filled him with such joy that when he looked back up he was smiling widely. "It is a pleasure, Madame, a pleasure. Ellisa has told me so much about you."

Ellisa's mother flushed – very reminiscent of the daughter, Erik mused – and said;

"Please, Monsieur, call me Madeline." Erik nodded in assent. Madeline sighed slightly and glanced around. Absent-mindedly, she said; "You know, Monsieur, you share the forename of my dear husband… he is about _somewhere_… if only I could find him…" Erik immediately stiffened at the mention of his namesake – the man who had first stolen Ellisa from him – but fortunately Madeline misinterpreted his reaction. She laughed, the same hearty, somewhat surprising sound her daughter let out when amused or delighted by something.

"Oh, don't worry, my dear, he is not _too_ overprotective – true, you are a little older than Ellisa, but then again I was scarcely a girl when _we_ married – and I am sure you will get on. Don't look so scared!" Erik nodded, and took a deep, steadying breath. Ellisa, looking up and seeing the deathly pallor of his already pale face, pulled him away and spoke quietly.

"Do not fear. I will not let what happened last time happen again. This night is our night." The girl's mother looked on patiently. Erik nodded, grateful for the child's soft words of comfort and encouragement. He wondered briefly if what he was feeling now was what all men felt when meeting the parents of the girl they were in love with…

The thought jolted him like a bolt of lightning. _In love with?_ Was he in love with Ellisa? Was this feeling – the comfort of another being in his arms – was this _love?_ But surely love was meant to be a fire, a passion beyond all bounds? God knew he felt no _passion_ for Ellisa…

But what _did_ he feel for her? Why did she, without even realising it, have such power over him? And would he ever truly understand?

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Ellisa's father, Erik Denuar, watched from the balcony of the grand _escalier_ as Ellisa laughed and flirted with the man by her side. Ellisa's father recognised the man, who seemed completely oblivious to the girl's gentle flirtations.

Erik Denuar watched as his daughter glowed under the shy smile of the masked man, the phantom… her teacher. He watched as his _wife_ tittered under the steady gaze of the man, and he watched as Ellisa twirled him onto the dance floor, her slight body fitting almost perfectly with his.

He watched as the man's presence gave his daughter so much happiness and he sighed, knowing that, at last, the time had come for him to give his daughter up.

He would not complain. As long as his child, his precious child, was happy, he would endure silently whatever pain should come to him, as doubtless it would. He would let her go… because he loved her, he would let her go.

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**A/N: **Sorry it's so short! The next chapter will hopefully be more active... and trust me, the little twist in Erik and Ellisa's relationship is as much a surprise to me as to anyone else! Please review!


	11. Chapter Eleven: Is Farewell Forever?

**A/N:** I'm really sorry I haven't updated in ages! We got a new computer and I lost some of my files... I'd written chapters twelve and thirteen but then I discovered chapter eleven was missing so I had to re-write it! It isn't as good as it was, though. Anyway, enjoy!

**Chapter Eleven**

The night was almost over, and Erik was heartily glad. Not that he hadn't enjoyed the evening, quite to the contrary... but he yearned for the peace of his music and his solitude.

"Erik." It was Ellisa, smiling gently at him. She indicated the doors out to the steps with a nod of her head. "We should be going." Erik frowned slightly: he had no desire being seen by the drunks and popinjays of Paris who would be about at this hour.

"Actually, I was thinking I would go down..." He trailed off at the hopeful, expectant look on her face.

"The back way?" She asked, her eyes wide. "Please, Erik... I would so love to watch the sunrise with you!" Erik hesitated for a moment, before shrugging in agreement. He had not seen a sunrise for a very long time.

"Very well." He said shortly. "But not for long."

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It was indeed a beautiful sight. Gold, reds and blues filled the sky with their cacophony of colour, slowly melting away into one another... as the first rays of the sun touched Paris it gleamed like it was newly-built. Looking across, one could see everything... the Palace of Versailles, with its lush green gardens, the lights of the Moulin Rouge, still rowdy at four o' clock in the morning. Erik smiled bitterly. Perhaps if things had been different he might have been one of the bohemian musicians in the most talked-about section of Paris...

But no matter: he was seated on the steps of the Opera Populaire, his very own domain, with a lovely young girl wrapped round his arm, and they were watching a beautiful sunrise. It was certainly more than he could ever have dared to dream when he looked in a mirror.

It is something of a shame, then, that Ellisa's curiosity, no doubt aroused by the ready supply of alcohol that had been available that night, had to rear itself up at just this moment.

"Erik?" She asked, innocently. Oh, for youth!

"Mmm?" Erik, it can be said, was scarcely listening: he was staring out across Paris with a sad look in his eyes and was oblivious to all else. The skyline of the beautiful city was for him a symbol of all his shattered dreams.

"May I ask you something?" Perhaps it was something in her tone, but Erik turned at once when Ellisa uttered those words. Not being able to find words, he nodded, a cold feeling beginning to envelop him. "Erik..." Ellisa began, nervously, "why do you wear that mask?"

He froze, and felt as though his very heart had been turned to lead. Why did she have to ask him _now_, when he was so happy – or the closest to 'happy' he'd ever come – when everything was right? Why did she have to ask the question he had hoped she would never, ever ask?

He stood up abruptly, dislodging her arm. He felt nothing for her now, simply rage and the terrible hatred of an animal wounded by its own carer.

"Why should _you_ want to know?" He spat, his eyes burning. "_Why?_"

Ellisa stepped back, her eyes round and fearful.

"I – I just thought..." But the look on her face did not arouse any pity from Erik.

"You can think again, then!" He told her, pushing her comforting arm away. She stumbled... she was starting to fall...

"Got you." Erik said gruffly, quite annoyed to discover that his heart wasn't lead after all. He looked down at her and said, quite gently: "You must never ask me that, child." She nodded sadly.

"You don't have to hide from me, you know." She whispered, but he turned away and pretended he hadn't heard. He stood with his back to her for what felt like hours, but just when he thought she had gone he felt a light hand on his shoulder. When he turned back to Ellisa he saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Erik..." She said quietly. "I've been offered a place in the National Touring Orchestra. The conductor, my father's friend, helped me get it. I'll be leaving in two weeks time." And with that, she turned away, and didn't see the terrible sadness that came over her friend's face at her words.

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Erik watched sadly as Ellisa began to load her bags into a carriage. Her parents were there, saying goodbye... he should say goodbye, too...

He stepped out from his hiding place at the top of the steps and called out to her.

"Ellisa!" She turned, and he watched coldly as she dropped everything to run up to the steps to meet him. When she reached him she was out of breath but grinned widely.

"Erik!" She exclaimed, and promptly threw her arms around him. "I didn't think you'd come." She said, her voice muffled from the fact that she had her face buried in his waistcoat. He gently unwound her hands from the material, any harsh thoughts towards the girl replaced by the finality of farewell.

"Of course I came." He said seriously, looking down into her eyes. "I cannot let my student go without saying goodbye, can I?" From afar he watched as Ellisa's mother Madeline smiled up at the pair of them, clearly overjoyed that her daughter's 'young suitor' had arrived in time to see her off. Both of Ellisa's parents were too far off to see his mask.

"I'll be staying with the orchestra for a year." Ellisa told him in a sudden rush of words. "We'll be going all over France, and then I'll get three weeks off whilst they decide whether or not to renew my position. I'll come here." To her it was a promise, and to Erik it was the last beacon of hope in a suddenly dark world. He smiled sadly and took her hands in his.

"You should be going, my child... I would not want you to be late." And he brushed his lips oh-so-lightly across her knuckles. But then, much to his surprise, Ellisa stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the cheek. Then she stepped away, looking embarrassed. Erik could only imagine her mother's 'oohs' of delight.

"Well... goodbye then." She said awkwardly, and was gone. Only when she entered the carriage and it drew away did Erik murmur to the wind:

"Farewell."

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So once more Erik's life was plunged into darkness. So what was he to do? It seems unfair, surely, to make him wait an entire year for his fickle 'child' to return. But perhaps it was not Ellisa's fault. She thought it was all Erik had ever wanted for her... a place in the orchestra. It was her dream.

But that could not sustain the man stagnating in the darkness below the Opera House. And so he went, searching the darkness, searching it for a light.

And perhaps Ellisa would have been wiser to stay, after all.

For in that darkness he found Christine...

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**A/N:** Please review and tell me what you think!


	12. Chapter Twelve: An Unlikely Tale

**A/N:** Ok, I'm continuing at last! I'm almost finished now... slight Christine 'bashing' in this chapter. Hehe! Enjoy it...

**Chapter Twelve**

_One Year Later_

_Paris Opera House, 1885_

Ellisa had returned to her childhood home at last. Smiling widely as she hurried up the wide steps, she called out to the doorman in surprised recognition.

"Roberto! You are still here, then?" Roberto looked up in surprise as he recognised the young woman in from of him, but only just. In her year with the travelling orchestra Ellisa had changed considerably. She now looked less like the little girl she had used to be and more like the woman she would one day become.

"Ellisa!" He bowed, and kissed her fingertips. "How goes it?" Ellisa laughed merrily.

"Well. And for you? How was the masquerade ball last month?" Roberto's cheer vanished as she mentioned the fateful occasion. Lowering her voice, he spoke to her.

"Bad business, Ellisa, very bad business." Roberto looked around nervously, his young face slightly fearful. He lowered his voice further, so that Ellisa had to lean towards him to hear. "You see," he whispered, "the _Phantom_ turned up!" Ellisa jerked up at this.

"What?" She exclaimed, not bothering to keep her voice down. "The Phantom? Are you sure?"

"Shh, shh!" Roberto silenced her, his face pale. "Yes! Did you not hear about the chandelier crashing down, and Carlotta losing her voice? He has been very busy this past year, it seems." Ellisa stared at her childhood friend in shock.

"I heard about the chandelier, yes, and Carlotta's 'co-ack' – how could anyone fail to? – but what makes you think it was… _him?_" Roberto sighed heavily, clearly enjoying telling the tale despite his fear.

"Why, because just before the chandelier fell we heard his voice and he cried _she is singing to bring down the chandelier!_ And down it fell, right on the head of Monsieur Richard's – he's one of the new managers, arrived about four months after you left – concierge! Bad business, very bad business…"

Ellisa looked around despairingly.

"But _why_ did he drop the chandelier on that poor woman?" Roberto gave her another surprised look.

"Why, because the managers would not put Christine Daaé in the leading role!" Ellisa looked oddly put out by this, and expressed it in her words. She remembered Christine from the _corps de ballet_, an annoyingly pretty and popular girl, though she could not remember her being able to hold a tune with any great skill. Ellisa had never had many friends in the ballet, but on the other hand she had spent most of her time with Erik, and now she felt faintly betrayed.

"Daaé? A chorus girl?" Roberto looked surprised at her harsh reaction.

"Why, yes, did you not hear of her triumph at the gala when Debienne and Poligny left? She was incredible! And come, Ellisa, you are hardly one to scoff: a ballet dancer who joined the orchestra!"

Ellisa sighed, and nodded.

"Yes, alright. So… the Bal Masque?" Roberto grinned, picking up his story once more.

"Yes, he turned up, and announced to everyone that he had written an opera, and that it must be performed, or else he would cause a disaster even worse than the first one of the chandelier! And that Christine Daaé was to be put in the lead role! It is an awful piece of music, not at all _operatic_… _Don Juan Triumphant_, he called it!"

Ellisa swallowed nervously.

"And has it been performed yet?" Roberto shook his head, once more seeming surprised at her lack of knowledge. It made Ellisa feel very alienated from the place she had once called home.

"No, the first performance is tonight… oh, I highly doubt I'll be opening the door for too many people once word has got round of how awful it is!"

Ellisa bit her lip distractedly. Roberto, being the nosy, gossipy type, noticed this immediately.

"Why? What's wrong, Ellisa? Not jealous of our little Christine, are you?" Ellisa immediately shot him an icy look.

"Don't be ridiculous." She lied flatly. She _was_ jealous of Christine, but not for the reasons Roberto thought.

888

Ellisa immediately hurried down to her old room, hoping that, somehow Erik would have left her something there… a message perhaps, or one of his red roses… anything, a sign to show that he had not forgotten her, but there was nothing to be found.

After her fruitless search Ellisa sank down onto her bed, which had been ready made for her arrival. Well, at least _somebody_ had remembered about her.

The year she had spent with the touring orchestra had opened Ellisa's eyes to much more than just matters of music. She had dallied with young gentlemen, and had even let one of the nicer oboe players kiss her like lovers do behind the stage of one venue. One boy, this time a violinist, had even spoken to her of marriage, but she had shied away when she realised that he would never fulfil her.

Her experiences had been crazy, exciting, and the boys had all been charming and attractive, but for some reason when she kissed them all she could see was a man in a white mask, staring at her, accusing her.

It had taken her a year to realise it, but at last she had admitted to herself what had been self-evident to everyone, even her poor father: she had loved Erik.

And now she was ready to return to him, to give herself to him, but it seemed she was too late. Too late by far.

But what really hurt was that, whilst he had never lifted a finger to help her career, he had written an entire _opera_ for vain Christine Daaé.

And so, betrayed and confused, she slumped down on her pillows and began to cry, her tears those of anger and her sobs those of bitter jealousy.

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**A/N:** Stupid Erik! Next chapter swiftly on its way.


	13. Chapter Thirteen: A Curious Meeting

**A/N:** A rather short chapter now, but never mind... I'll be coming to _Don Juan Triumphant_ next... I'm extremely tempted to let Ellisa slap Christine... hmm... I am sorry of Ellisa is turning into a dreaded Mary-Sue. But at least she isn't as perfect as Christine... Enjoy!

**Chapter Thirteen**

It would soon be time for the curtains to rise on _Don Juan Triumphant_. Ellisa, remembering the time Erik had taken her to see _Romeo and Juliet_, had decided to wait and watch in Box Five, hoping against hope that Erik would appear there to watch his opera and _his_ diva. It never entered Ellisa's mind that someone else might have bought the box – she didn't think the management would dare.

And so it was something of a surprise when the door opened and, rather than it being Erik's tall, foreboding figure that entered, it was instead the somewhat dashing figure of a handsome young man with a youthful, honest aristocratic face.

"Yes?" The boy frowned at Ellisa, and she jumped up in surprise and embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I'll go…" She went to leave, but he held out a hand to stop her.

"No… don't. What were you doing here, anyway? I thought none of you ballet rats ever dared do anything that might anger 'O.G'." Ellisa raised an eyebrow, not only at his somewhat snobbish words, but also at his display of knowledge of the hierarchy of the Opera House, of which Erik was king.

"I would ask you the same thing." Ellisa responded, haughtily. "I'm surprised that a pampered thing like yourself would ever risk _his_ anger. And I am _not_ a ballet rat."

Now it was the young man's turn to look surprised, but he quickly covered it with a charming smile.

"Indeed. It seems we are now even… and I apologise for my earlier comment." Ellisa smiled back, but the boy suddenly frowned, and asked:

"Well, what are you then, if not a member of the chorus?" He glanced uncomfortably at her slightly worn and plain clothing, and flushed. "Well, I mean, if you are a member of the audience…"

Ellisa did her best to restrain a laugh at his bumbling attitude, and decided to err on the side of truth.

"I am a friend of the composer's." She had thought the words innocent enough: she hardly doubted anyone outside the Opera House would know of the true identity of the composer of _Don Juan Triumphant_, but the boy immediately went pale and grasped at her wrist.

"What do you mean?" He asked urgently. "_What do you know of Erik!_" Ellisa stepped back in shock, and then, a sudden suspicion crossing her mind, she glanced back at the fine cut of the boy's clothing, and at his young, charming face.

"Before I answer that," she told him shakily, "I want to know who you are." The boy stepped back and released his grip on her arm.

"De Chagny, Madame, at your service." And he gave an ironical little bow. Ellisa groaned. And she'd thought things couldn't get any worse…

"Oh." She sighed. She knew who 'de Chagny', or more specifically _Raoul_ de Chagny, was, too well. After her conversation with Roberto she had gone out to try and find all she could about the Christine affair. And she soon came to realise that it had not just been Erik's heart the young _ingenue_ had captured… she had also courted the foolish young man who was standing in front of Ellisa now. Ellisa knew, in her heart of hearts, that if it came to a fight for the girl's affections between de Chagny and Erik the poor fop wouldn't have a chance.

"And you, Madame? I should like to know the name of Erik's 'friend'." Ellisa looked at him, surprised by the bitter force of his words. Perhaps she had underestimated the young _vicomte_…

"Ellisa Denuar, sir." She bobbed her head respectfully, and the young man nodded, still frowning furiously.

"And you know Erik… how?" Ellisa hesitated.

"That, Monsieur, is something I would rather keep to myself." She paused. "He is not as bad as everyone says, really." De Chagny snorted in disbelief, and shook his head.

"Then I don't think you knew him terribly well! The man is a monster, girl, but it seems he manipulated you into believing otherwise… much as he manipulated Christine."

And the boy glared out into the empty auditorium, as though the force of his furious gaze could draw the 'monster' out from wherever he was hiding. But then something happened which he did not expect. Ellisa slapped him.

"Don't you dare call him that, you stupid, spoilt little boy! He isn't a monster, he isn't… he can't be…" Her voice trailed off as her own fury dissipated, leaving just an empty futility in its wake. The truth she had been trying to deny most of her teenage years finally hit home to her: that however kind and gentle Erik had been to her, he still possessed that dark, cruel side from which 'O.G' spoke. She had seen 'O.G' thrice before: once, when he had struck her in pain and grief, secondly, at the masked ball when they had been torn from one another, and finally, on the steps of the Opera House after that second masked ball.

"Don't worry. He won't hurt you." She looked up as the boy put a hand on her shoulder, his face, still red from the blow she had dealt him, carefully set.

"I know." Ellisa replied, and with that stood up and swept gracefully from the box. Just before leaving, she turned back and nailed the boy with a serious stare.

"And de Chagny, on piece of advice: do not test Erik's will. There is nothing he will not do for love."

And she left, not waiting to hear the poor boy's response, and not waiting for him to see the pain that crossed her face as she remembered once more that the love 'her Erik' bore was not for her, but for Christine Daaé.

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**A/N:** I just love Raoul. I feel he's rather hard done-by for most of the tale... and he's such a fop! Anyway, please tell me what you think! Too clichéd? Been done before? All comments are welcome (apart from really nasty ones).


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